I don’t like kids. There. I said it. I have never liked kids. I don’t even recall liking kids when I was a kid. I’m the youngest in my family. I never babysat. Until I had I had a child, I was never around babies for any extended amount of time.
To be clear: I love my kids. They are the bee’s knees. The cat’s pajamas. My world. But in no way does that obligate me to like other people’s kids, or as like to call them: OPP (Other People’s Progeny).
Now that I’m a mom, I feel like I am expected to gush over everyone else’s kids, to find them endlessly charming simply because I have one (or two) of my own. And that’s just not the case. My coworkers have kids. They’re fine. My sister’s friends have kids. Cool. H has preschool friends. Neat. The case just remains, if I’m completely honest with myself, I don’t like kids.
Continue reading “Today I’m Struggling With…Other People’s Kids”